The starting point for my dark narratives is the world around me. I am right there in the middle of the action, at the local barbers, in the boozer or in the betting shop, or rising pre-dawn to accompany dustmen on their morning rounds. Using my vocabulary of marks and motifs I have built up a high street of London hangouts were all the sinners and saints take their roles in my morality play.

Dolor conjures up an entirely imagined allegoric snapshot with the vantage point now zoomed out, a fictitious sin-city thriving with ideas of social change, conflict, faith and struggle, while satirical observations celebrate all that is ludicrous and enchanting about English life and society.

The new series following on from Dolor shows my environment slipping further away from civility. Cramped layers of futile growth show people bathing, fishing and drinking in the sputum the factories pump out. The children are stuffed with junk food, taking on the characteristics of the hyenas which eat the perishing bodies of the dead because the morgues are bursting. The elected come round to see for themselves but are protected by their own henchmen. Women share damp tunnels with the rats as they breast feed their young touting for work with CV's in marketing experience rather than sex. The streets are shop less the spaces they vacate are now housing the rapists, pedophiles fraudsters and bankers.

Any open space is left as no mans land where anything goes. High speed trains deliver more people in on the hour from a volcanic distance which itself is in self destruction as smoke and laver spills from its seams. Helicopter gun ships circle firing rockets to secure the euthanasia.